Primal Justice
by deltaoutlaw
Summary: Modern era, reminiscent of Last of the Breed. After witnessing a murder, Gage Martin is hunted through the wilderness. Returning to civilization, he finds his wife kidnapped and sets out to rescue her and bring justice to the man responsible.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Gage Martin pushed his way through the thorns and brush into the cold glare of the mid day sun. The temperature was sufficiently low that the frost still clung stubbornly to the plants about him. Standing on the edge of a small canyon, with the river boiling through the narrow channel a hundred feet below, he could hear the sounds of pursuit getting closer. Looking below him, he could see no passable way down the face of the drop off. Just an old, twisted cedar, clinging precariously to the cliff wall. To either side of him, the blackberry brambles and fallen pines prevented a quick escape.

Looking back, between the trunks of the towering evergreens, he could catch glimpses of his pursuers. He knew his trail would not be hard to follow. Tearing through the brush in his hurry to escape, breaking branches, trampling through briers, with his clothes being torn apart, he must have left a trail a blind man could follow.

His faced scratched and bloody, his lungs screaming for air, and with no where else to run, Gage realized he had only one option. At the same instant, one of his pursuers spotted him and let go a hasty shot with his pistol. The range was marginal for a handgun, but the bullet came uncomfortably close. Gage could hear the snapping of twigs as it cut the brush just a few feet to the right of him. Already having made his decision, he wasted no more time and leaped into the chasm.

As he plummeted down the face of the cliff he watched as the branches of the ancient cedar rush up to meet him. He crashed into the gnarled tree, and felt stabs of pain and heard the tearing of fabric. The branches held him for a moment only and then he was falling again. Only ten feet down, he hit a small ledge and bounced out into space. He plunged the rest of the way down and into the frigid river.

The cold water wrenched the air from his lungs, and he struggled to reach the surface. With the icy tumult tossing him about, he kicked his way up and drew in a great breath when he finally broke free into the air. The weight of his pack kept him from comfortably riding the crest of the flow. The river seemed to try to pull him back down, the water trying to force its way down his throat and into his lungs.

As he was tossed about the current he slammed into one of the boulders dotting the river. He felt a blinding pain in his side as the air was forced out of him. He slid off the slick, algae covered rock and continued his drift downstream.

He gasped for breath and was rewarded with a mouth full of water. Coughing and sputtering, he took a quick look up the steep canyon walls where he saw his pursuers come to the edge he had just departed. Again they took hasty shots, as he drifted further downstream, but didn't come close to hitting him.

"You'd better hope you die down there," He heard one of them yell, "Because if you don't, we'll make sure you wish you had."

As he floated around a bend in the canyon, the two were lost to his sight. With sheer walls all around him, he did not attempt to climb out. Instead he let the current take him farther and farther away from danger.

The current was swift within the walls of the canyon, and he had to struggle to keep himself on the surface. It seemed like and eternity before he felt the waters calm and the cliffs drop away. With the forest pressing right up to the banks of the river, he floated under the canopy of branches. Looking for a place to leave the river, he saw where a large boulder broke the flow of the river, creating a small area, sheltered from the pull of the rivers current.

Kicking over to the eddy, he pulled himself out of the river. He staggered a few steps further into the forest and saw where a large tree had been leveled by the wind, leaving large bowl in the ground where the roots had torn up a great mass of earth.

A spruce, growing near the edge of the depression, was leaning slightly where the ground had been pulled from beneath its roots. Able to go no farther, he crawled into the small hollow where the wall of roots and the spruce boughs came together. Gage burrowed down into the leaves and pine needles and promptly passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

As far back as he could remember, Gage Martin could not recall a time when he wasn't interested in nature. Growing up in the north woods of Minnesota, it was hard not to become entangled in the magical beauty of the quiet woodlands. A large part of his outdoor legacy was passed onto him by his father, who was an avid outdoorsman. Gage was always included in his father's hunting and fishing expeditions as soon as he was old enough to walk.

These trips weren't just about hunting and fishing. His father also taught him many things about nature and surviving in the wild. How you could use paper cups to boil water. The kinds of plants that were edible or otherwise useful, and of course the ones that were harmful. How to always be aware of your surroundings. Many times he would stop and ask questions about a bird that had just flown overhead or what was the right direction back to the truck. Above all, he taught him to respect nature and the game he hunted. To only take what he needed and waste nothing he didn't have to.

When he was twelve, Gage's father had given him his first shotgun.

"This is not a toy. This is a tool. It's a very dangerous tool. I am giving you this because I trust you to act responsibly," his father had told him. "If, at any time, I feel you aren't being responsible with your gun you will return it to me until you can prove that you have learned your lesson."

There was more than one occasion in the first couple of years when Gage found himself walking back to his father's pickup truck without his firearm. Times when he had been careless about what direction the muzzle was pointing or when he wasn't quick enough to re-safe the weapon after firing.

His father also impressed on him the necessity of taking care of his possessions. Never was one of his rifles or shotguns put away, after being used, that they weren't fastidiously cleaned. The same applied to his hunting knife and fishing equipment.

"If you don't care enough to take care of it, you don't deserve to have it," his father would tell him.

As Gage grew older, he took it upon himself to learn even more than his dad had taught him. He read every hunting and fishing article he could get his hands on. He quickly went through the local library's small collection of books on survival.

He joined the Boy Scouts of America as soon as age permitted. The outdoors was his passion and he was set on learning everything he could about it.

By the time he was a senior in high school, he had achieved the rank of Eagle Scout. He was also a member of the school's football and wrestling teams.

It was during his final year in school that he decided he wanted to join the Army. His father was proud and supportive of his decision. His mother worried but was no less supportive of her son.

Six weeks after graduation he left for basic training. Not only had he signed up for the infantry, he had gotten a guaranteed chance at Ranger training.

The months at Fort Benning's infantry training center were tough, but not much worse than what he had put himself through during the football and wrestling seasons. Just longer and more varied.

He qualified as expert during rifle marksmanship. But it was during the field training exercises that Gage really stood out above the rest of the trainees. His drill sergeants couldn't believe how expertly he moved when in the field.

His parents came to see his graduation from infantry training. He was given a two week leave and then had to report for Ranger Training.

Nothing he had ever experienced had prepared him for what he had to endure during Ranger School. Dozens of times he wanted to quit and dozens of times he just kept on pushing when he thought he had nothing left to give.

When it was finally over, Gage's instructor had given him his Ranger Scroll, shook his hand, and told him, "Congratulations son, you've just become a Ranger. You'll never have to prove anything to anybody again."

He spent six years in the army. He received a minor wound during action in Afghanistan. After he recovered, he returned to his unit and was wounded again in an ambush set up by the Taliban. When his enlistment term ended, he was still recovering from the shrapnel wound in his right leg. Figuring he had used up about all the luck he was entitled to, he decided not to reenlist.

After he finished recovering, Gage moved to Denver and became head of security for a military contractor. He was paid well and quickly saved up enough money for a down payment on a comfortable, yet not extravagant, home in the mountains.

He also met Alexis Stevenson, a receptionist with the same company he worked for. It was a whirlwind romance and they were married nine months later.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

When Gage Martin came to his senses, it was to a piercing cold that he could feel all through his body. It took him a moment to realize where he was. It all came back to him quickly. His mad dash through the forest, his leap from the cliff, and finally pulling himself from the river and into this tiny refuge.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his cell phone finding that the water had ruined it as he had expected.

His first thought was for his wife. He had no way of reaching her. He knew she would worry when he didn't return from his morning hunt. She was more than aware of how accidents could happen to even the most careful person. He didn't know if his call to the police would generate any sort of search. He figured that the police would be able to find out whose phone the call had originated from. Assuming that, he hoped they would contact his wife. Once she knew the situation she would still be worried but would trust him to make it through.

Pain and cold were not new things to him. His Ranger training had taught him how to deal with both. Nor was he afraid. He had been hunted before, in the mountains of Afghanistan. The only difference was, now he didn't have a squad of his brothers to lend assistance.

He glanced at his watch to find that he had been unconscious for most of the afternoon. He felt for his knife which he found was still securely held in place on his belt. Gage knew what his pack contained, and knew what he could do with those items inside. Through all this madness he had managed to hold onto his rifle. Unfortunately he realized he had only three rounds for it. It had been a little too prideful of him when he told others that he never planned on shooting more than three deer at a time. It had never occurred to him that he might have to use his rifle for anything other than that.

Every move he made brought forth a new sensation of pain. He checked his arms and legs and found them to be responsive, if a bit stiff and clumsy. He had several cuts, and many scrapes and bruises, but nothing seemed to be broken and he didn't feel as if he'd lost very much blood.

Reaching into his pack he brought out his extra shirt. He cut a strip from the bottom, then broke down his rifle and wiped away as much of the water as he could. He reassembled the rifle and closed his pack back up.

Hunched over under the sweeping boughs of the spruce tree, Gage took stock of his situation.

He was alone in the wilderness. He was wounded, but not gravely. He had his rifle, knife, and the rucksack he always carried when hunting. He knew he would be trailed, and if he remained where he was they would find him in no time at all.

He had to move and the only way he could go was deeper into the forest. Standing up, he returned to the river, splashed some water on his face to help clear his head, and did his best to wipe out the tracks he had left when he struggled out onto the bank.

He turned from the river and headed farther into the woods. He used every trick he had learned in his evasion courses to hide his trail. He worked his way through the forest, trying to avoid areas that would leave visible foot prints, and careful not to disturb any thing that might reveal his passing to a skilled tracker. He wasn't sure just how skilled those trailing him would be, but he new that it was never wise to underestimate the abilities of you enemy.

Twice during the afternoon he had to stop and rest. The second time he took the time to eat the trail mix and dried fruit slices that he like to have with him while hunting. His trials from earlier in the day had taken more out of him than he realized, and he needed the energy the food would provide. His body ached at even the slightest movement, and he had no proper bandages for the several cuts he had sustained. Though not severe, he knew that without proper care, they could become infected and kill him more surely than any person.

As he traveled, his clothes slowly dried themselves of the last of the water they had absorbed from the river.

As the light began to fade he tried to find a sheltered place to spend the night. With nothing as convenient as a cave close to hand, he found a place where two large boulders stood close together along the face of a small rocky ridge.

He placed fallen branches across the tops of the boulders. Then with his knife he cut boughs from the nearby pines and lay them on top of the branches to form a ceiling. It was a small shelter, only large enough to crawl into, but it gave him refuge from the wind and offered his mind some small comfort on which to hold. Before he retreated into his shelter, he stuffed his coat with as many dead leaves and pine needles that he could, hoping to create some insulation against the cold night he knew was to come. Exhausted beyond belief, he didn't even attempt to build a fire. He simply crawled into his improvised shelter and once again nestled down into the fallen leaves. He was asleep almost instantly.


End file.
